


No Rest for the Weary

by Brate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-30
Updated: 2012-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-30 08:52:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brate/pseuds/Brate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys try to take some time off, but the job won't leave them alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Rest for the Weary

Dean Winchester sipped his coffee, uneasily observing his brother. Sam's head was slowly drooping. "You know, if you fall asleep in your coffee, I'll let you drown."

Sam's head jerked up. "So much for brotherly love."

Taking a bite of his waffle, Dean swallowed quickly, barely chewing. He hadn't missed the dark circles under Sam's eyes any more than he could ignore his brother's head gravitating toward the tabletop. Repeatedly. "I figure if you die at least you'll get some sleep."

Sam's head snapped up again. "I _have_ been getting sleep. I just wake up tired." He rubbed his face to clear the cobwebs. 

Finishing his breakfast, Dean tossed enough money on the table to cover their bill. "Nightmares?"

"Not for a while." Sam shook his head. "'Least, not that I remember."

"Small favors," Dean muttered. Louder, he said, "Look, we're only sticking around this one-horse town to rest up and earn some money. If you aren't resting, we're wasting time."

"I already told you," Sam said earnestly, "I'm sleeping."

Dean searched his brother's face. Sam was telling the truth, but it still didn't explain why he looked like shit. "Okay, okay, I gotta get to work, anyway." Dean stood to leave. "Try to get some rest today."

"Any more and I'll be in a coma."

"All right, then, just take it easy."

"Sir, yes, sir." Sam saluted with a tired smile.

Dean patted Sam's shoulder and walked away. At the door, he glanced back, seeing Sam jerk awake again. Pushing the door open with more force than necessary, Dean headed for the print shop. No matter what, he was going to make sure Sam got some sleep…even if he had to knock him out to do it. 

Walking down the street, Dean smiled at the townsfolk he passed. A private person by nature, his job as a hunter provided the perfect opportunity to hide in plain sight, using different aliases. It allowed him to reveal only as much of himself as he wanted. But sticking around this town made it tough. He returned another passerby's wave and ducked his head, moving faster toward his destination.

Small towns in general weirded him out, due mostly to the unusually large number of supernatural things they tended to harbor, especially without anyone noticing. It seemed to Dean that everyone knew everything about everybody. 

It was mildly disconcerting.

Reaching the print shop, he opened the door and shuffled in, nodding hello to Marty at the counter. Dean went into the back and started working. 

Mindlessly copying page after page, he had time to dwell on his brother's strange behavior. He was used to Sam lying to him about his nightmares and lack of sleep, but Dean always knew better. This time he could swear Sam was telling the truth. But if that was the case, why did he look like death warmed over after nearly a week into their "vacation"? Something didn't add up, and it got his internal alarms clanging. Unfortunately, with their sleeping arrangements, he hadn't been able to watch over Sam like he normally did on the road. Sharing a hotel room wasn't always a treat, but at least he could keep an eye on his little brother. 

Once they had decided to take a few weeks' break, they chose the next small town they happened upon: Hayward, Wisconsin. Driving on the main road—predictably named Main Street—they found a diner and pulled in. A few inquiries over coffee had them heading down the road to the Calloway house. The woman who answered the door seemed a bit wary even after Dean explained why they were there, but when she'd looked at Sam, her face lit up. Dean snorted. _Score another mother hen for Sam._ She'd welcomed them in and happily showed them the apartment she was renting. 

Mrs. Calloway had led them to the back and up the staircase next to the garage. The apartment wasn't big by any means, but it was definitely larger than a motel room, so it was luxurious to them. There was a large main area, sharing a small kitchenette with a living room. Their hostess explained that the couch pulled out into a bed. Attached to the main room were a bathroom and a small bedroom with a double bed. The space was reasonably priced and, exchanging a nod, they snapped it up. Sam insisted on sleeping on the pullout and Dean let him. He knew his brother would be more comfortable being able to wander if he couldn't sleep, without having to worry about waking Dean. 

Now Dean regretted going along with Sam's wishes. _Something_ was going on, but he hadn't noticed because he'd been sleeping, blissfully unaware in the next room. Tonight he would stand watch over his brother. A little spying never hurt, and if there was nothing suspicious, Sam never had to know. 

Decision made, Dean forced his mind back to his paying job and carried the stack of copies over to the binder.

~*~*~*~

"Hey, Lucy, I'm home." Dean opened the door with a flourish. He quieted when he saw Sam asleep in front of the TV, newspaper open in his lap. Even though they were taking a break, neither brother could resist looking in the paper for their next "real" job. They checked every day in search of the weird and wondrous. 

Setting the pizza on the counter, Dean let Sam sleep, knowing this would be the best opportunity to surreptitiously set up his stakeout. He snatched the shotgun out of his duffel and took it into the bedroom, stashing it under his covers. Hesitating only a second, he added extra shot and a bottle of holy water. You could never be too careful.

Once everything was ready, he walked over and looked at Sam closely. He'd probably sacked out as soon as he had gotten in from work. The kid still had dark circles under his eyes, and they were getting bigger, not smaller. It eased Dean's mind about the spying he would be doing that night, anyway. He leaned over and lightly slapped Sam on the back of the head to wake him for supper. 

Dean sighed, ready to slam his head against the wall. It was after midnight and he was surprised Sam was still awake, as tired as he appeared to be. His brother couldn't be surpassed for pure stubbornness. Dean tightened his grip on the shotgun when the TV was finally shut off. 

Within ten minutes, muffled snores drifted in from the main room. He silently slipped to the door and opened it a few inches. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Dean could see out into the other room, and the lump on the couch. His eyes had long adjusted to the dim light filtering through the windows from the streetlights.

Time passed slowly. There was nothing unusual happening with his brother; in fact, he was sleeping more soundly than Dean had seen since they'd started on their road trip. Dean struggled to stay alert, needing to make sure Sam was safe.

The numbers of his alarm clock glowed from next to the bed, beckoning him. Three a.m. and nothing. Dean glanced away from the clock back to Sam, and nearly yelled. There, leaning over his brother, was a figure: shiny, bloody, and wet.

Jumping up, Dean was already aiming his shotgun and reaching to pull open the door completely when reason stilled his movement. He recognized the intruder.

A boo-hag. 

With the realization came information. All it wanted was to suck some of his brother's energy. The danger from a boo-hag came from fighting them—he couldn't get her off Sam without risking his life. Dean would have to leave her be…for now. Stomach clenching, he backed away from the door, keeping his brother in sight. It was killing Dean, having to sit and watch this _creature_ accost Sam, but he couldn't tear his eyes from the nauseating sight. He still held the gun, ready to do battle if Sam's life was threatened, but she—it—merely finished and leapt off, disappearing as quickly as she'd appeared. 

Dean ran to the bedroom window and saw Mrs. Calloway slipping into her house. No wonder she'd been so happy to have them rent the place. Sam was a choice entrée for her kind. Damn him and his special gift. Dean had his hands full keeping Sam safe without his "psychic neon light" flashing for all the freaks to see.

Pushing away from the window, Dean crept over to Sam. Laying his hand on his brother's chest, he reassured himself Sam was all right, then he sat down on the edge of the foldout bed, intending to remain awake. Dean was certain she wouldn't visit twice in one night, but there was no way he was taking any more chances. And no point in waking Sam, either; he would need all his strength to counteract the effects of the boo-hag. Besides, nothing could be done that night. 

~*~*~*~

The light shone brightly through the windows and Sam slept on. Dean had waited long enough. He put his coffee down, walked over to the bed, and ripped the blanket off his brother. "Up and at 'em," Dean announced.

Sam groaned, covering his head with his pillow. "Dean, for once, can't you let me sleep in?" came the muffled response. "I don't have to work 'til eleven."

"No can do, brother. We've got ourselves a situation."

A face slowly emerged from under the pillow, eyes squinting. "I thought we were off duty."

"Me, too. I guess you never can tell." Dean tossed the blanket in a heap on the foldout and handed him a coffee. "Drink this, then I'll fill you in."

~*~*~*~

Sam sat down hard on the couch. "You're kidding, right?" He eyed his brother suspiciously. "Mrs. C is a boo-hag?"

"Saw it with my own eyes, dude."

"Aren't they normally in the Carolinas; maybe Georgia or Louisiana?"

Dean shrugged. "I guess she got tired of the warm weather and headed north."

"That _would_ explain why I've been so tired." Sam shuddered. 

"I'm betting she started coming that first night." Dean cursed himself for not detecting their intruder sooner. 

Confused, Sam asked, "But don't boo-hags usually use a person once and leave 'em alone for a while?"

"I guess you're just too tasty to resist." Dean grinned at Sam's expression of disgust, turning away to toss some clothes in his bag.

"What are you doing?"

Dean eyed his brother. "Did she suck out some brain cells, too? I'm packing. "

"Why?"

"I plan on blowing her ass away then skipping town."

"Dean, you know as well as I do that it won't work. There's only one way to kill her."

"Buckshot."

"No, that'll just piss her off."

"Then what do you suggest?" Dean spread his arms wide.

"You know what we have to do."

"Nuh-uh, no way."

"We don't have a choice." Sam stood, moving closer to his brother.

"We could just take off."

"Who are you and what have you done to my brother?"

"Not funny." Not after St. Louis, anyway.

Sam tried a different tactic. "It's not like you to walk away from a fight. Ever."

"She's not a fight, Sam. She just sampled some mojo, no harm, no foul." Trying to ignore Sam, Dean zipped his bag and picked it up.

Sam grabbed it and slammed it down. "Tell that to the next person after she steals their skin." That was the most dangerous aspect of the boo-hag. If someone fought back or struggled, she might decide she preferred their skin to her own.

Dean winced, conceding the truth. "So, what's your plan?"

"I'm guessing she'll be back again tonight. While she feeds, you find her skin."

"Which means you're volunteering to be bait." Dean hadn't liked it when Sam wanted to do that for Bloody Mary and didn't like it now. "You got yourself a death wish, Sammy?"

"You know as well as I do, as long as I don't struggle, she won't hurt me."

Dean knew he was losing, but refused to go down without one last try. "Don't you wonder what happened to Mr. Calloway? Maybe that's the reason she's a widow."

"Maybe, but it doesn't matter. I'm doing this, and so are you."

Dean sighed. It wasn't like he didn't want to get even with the bitch, but he hated the thought of purposely placing Sam in harm's way. "Fine, you be bait. Just don't come crying to me if she takes your skin."

"Yeah, okay, I'll remember that."

"Well, if I'm gonna stay up tonight and protect your ass, I'm gonna need to get some sleep." 

"What about work?"

"I'll call in sick." Dean waved a hand indifferently. "Oh, can you swing by and pick up my paycheck?"

"Won't that raise more suspicions?" 

"What, you'd rather stick around and explain why we killed one of their fine, upstanding citizens?"

"You have a point." Sam slipped on a pair of jeans and a clean shirt.

"Try to get paid today, too. We don't want this to be a complete waste."

"Yes, Dad. Is there anything else?"

"Yeah. Go away and let me sleep."

~*~*~*~

Dean was ignoring the TV, instead staring at the laptop in front of him, re-reading everything he could find about boo-hags. He wanted all his bases covered. Hearing footsteps on the stairs, he shut the computer down and turned his attention to the television. No reason to let his brother know he was worried. 

Sam came in bearing gifts of Chinese food, setting it on the coffee table. 

"Thanks, man." Dean flipped open the cartons, choosing what he wanted and digging in.

"Uh-huh." Sam picked his own carton and started eating. "You get enough sleep?"

"Guess you'll find out tonight."

"Very funny."

They ate in silence except for the antics on the screen in front of them. Dean noticed his brother shooting him looks, and resigned himself to answering questions. But Sam simply kept eating. After a few minutes, Dean relaxed. 

He should've known better.

Sam waited until Dean had a mouthful of food. "So, um, I checked out a few things today."

Dean closed his eyes briefly before swallowing. "Sam, don't tell me…"

"I was just curious," he defended. "I didn't want to make a mistake." 

"Well, when she takes her friggin' skin off, I think that'll be a clue."

"I was careful, don't worry."

"Oh, no," Dean said, not mollified, "I'm sure you won't raise any alarms researching the woman we're going to _kill_." 

"Dean…"

"Sam…" Dean said in the same tone of voice.

Sam waited a beat, then, "Do you want to know what I found out?" He smiled, knowing his brother's curiosity would win over his annoyance.

He was right. Dean sighed. "Fine, hit me."

"Seems Mrs. C came here about a year ago, married Mr. C not long after, then he died four months later."

"So maybe the mister found out about his missus."

"Could be."

"Are you satisfied?" Dean asked pointedly.

"Dean, I trust you, I just wanted—"

"To make sure we weren't making a mistake."

"Yeah."

"It's all right, Sam." Dean would've probably done the same thing in Sam's place. "Now finish eating so we can kill this bitch."

~*~*~*~

Crouched in the bushes flanking the house's perimeter, Dean watched. Glancing up, he could see the light was still on in their apartment. On his best nights, Sam had trouble falling asleep. Dean couldn't imagine the effort it would take tonight. He balked at the idea of willingly letting the hag near his brother; normally, he was doing his damnedest to protect Sam. Now here he was, offering him up like a sacrificial lamb. But there was no other choice.

Dean forced his mind to focus on what he had to do. He would be unable to function if he had to think about the risk. But there would only be trouble if Sam tried fight back, and Dean had already cautioned his brother—over and over—against antagonizing her. Although he had placed his knife under Sam's pillow, just in case. 

When Sam finally shut the light off, Dean's vigilance heightened. One way or another, that skank would never touch his brother again. He was grateful for the reflected light from the street lamps, even more grateful a few hours later when he saw a shape exit the house and slink to the garage. 

Dean watched her progress. She seemed to hesitate at one point, and he held his breath until she continued. He had to gauge his movements carefully, giving her enough time to start her business yet leave him enough time to do what he had to. There was no guarantee how long she would take.

A boo-hag could only be killed when she removed her skin in order to ride her victim. Underneath its borrowed skin was a body of raw, red meat, slippery and warm. A tremor of disgust shot through Dean, imagining the picture. He was glad Sam would be unconscious. 

Once she slipped inside, Dean made his way to the far side of the garage. Using a sheltered penlight, he scouted the side of the building, looking for his target. A shimmer caught his eye and he moved closer. Hanging from a nearly hidden nail was a bundle of…what had to be the boo-hag's skin. 

Now came the hard part. He needed to spread a concoction of salt, cayenne pepper, and ragwort inside it—which meant touching it. Taking a deep breath, reminding himself why he was doing this, Dean forged ahead. 

He lifted the skin off the hook, wrinkling his nose and striving to control his gag reflex. He really wished he'd thought to wear gloves. It was almost impossible to ignore the feel of the skin between his fingers, but he couldn't allow himself to dwell on it, knowing he had to hurry. Getting out his container of the salt mixture, he emptied it into the "sack," shaking it to coat the bloody inside. He replaced it on the hook and moved away, quickly and silently, returning to his hiding place. 

Within a few minutes, he saw a shadow move beyond the garage. It took all his willpower not to run up the stairs and check on Sam, but good sense prevailed. He stayed put.

The boo-hag came into sight clothed again in her human disguise. About ten feet from the garage, she stopped short. With a violent cry, she started spinning, madly clawing and tearing her skin off. Blood poured from the cracks in her flesh and the screams grew louder and louder. Suddenly, she exploded in a mass of gore. 

Blood, bones, and clumps of flesh rained down on Dean. He finally surrendered to his revulsion, turning aside to empty his stomach. Wiping his mouth, he glimpsed Sam in the window of the apartment looking down at him. Dean smiled and gave a thumbs-up, hoping Sam had missed the spectacle moments before. 

Dean scooted around the mess and sprinted up the stairs. He met Sam at the door. "You all right?" Frankly, he was surprised his brother was conscious, let alone upright.

"Yeah." Sam nodded wearily. "I'm guessing it worked?"

"No. Actually, I decided to take a bath…in blood…while screaming."

"Well, red is your color," Sam deadpanned. "Do you think anyone heard?"

"Only people in this state." Dean eyes crinkled in confusion. "I'm actually wondering why we haven't seen the cops. Or, you know, anyone."

"Kinda odd, don't you think?"

"What I think is I'm gonna jump in the shower while you sit your ass down before you fall, and then we're getting the hell outta Dodge."

~*~*~*~

Dean pressed harder on the accelerator, creeping the car up to sixty-five. 

Glancing in the side mirror, Sam shifted his gaze back to his brother. "You do realize no one's chasing us, right?"

"That's what worries me." Making an effort to ease his tension, Dean said, "You owe me big, Sam. That was the most disgusting thing ever."

"More disgusting than when that possessed girl threw up all over you?"

"Yeah."

"More disgusting than when the Wi-lu-gho-yuks tried to devour you from within?"

"Yeah."

Sam paused. "More disgusting than the job in Palatine?"

"Ye—no, okay, that was worse. But at least I didn't get covered in blood and guts that time."

"Just pus." 

"I thought we weren't gonna mention that ever again." Dean pushed in a tape and cranked up the music.

Sam fell silent and Dean nearly sighed with relief. Of course, when Sam was still quiet twenty minutes later, Dean knew his brother was thinking. And a contemplative Sam always meant trouble for Dean.

Suddenly, Sam reached over and turned down the music. "Maybe they knew," he said.

"Who knew what?" 

"Maybe the townspeople knew about Mrs. Calloway."

"What, that she was a boo-hag?" Dean shot a skeptical glance at his brother.

"Not necessarily. Maybe they just knew she was…different."

"So they sent us to her as a gift." Dean snorted. "That's sweet."

"No, because they knew we could stop her."

"How? Through the Psychic Fiends Network?"

"I don't know."

"Okay, now your brain is starting to creep me out more than that freakin' town."

" _No one_ thought piercing screams important enough to investigate? Screams loud enough to wake me from a near-coma? What other explanation could there be?"

Dean's mouth opened and closed a couple times before he answered, "The entire town just happened to be struck deaf at the exact same time we blew up our landlady." He smiled triumphantly.

"Yeah," Sam drawled, "that's a much more reasonable explanation."

Desperate to change the topic, Dean offered, "We still need some cash. Think we should find another town and try our luck again?"

Sam thought about it for all of two seconds. "You know, I'm thinking we find ourselves a nice sleazy bar and you hustle some pool while I take a nap."

"Now you're talkin'!"


End file.
